Hideaway
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from "Hunters". Seven finds Chakotay drinking from his secret liquor stash in Cargo Bay Two. Requested by Alaster Boneman.


Hideaway

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

"You weren't supposed to be here yet," said Chakotay, glowering up at Seven from his seat on the floor of Cargo Bay Two. "It's not your bedtime."

He knew he was being rude, but he was too drunk to care. The cargo bay had been a refuge to him since the beginning of their voyage. It was where he hid his secret stash of Antarean cider (which was a lot stronger than Earth apple cider and therefore to be saved for emergencies only) and where he came when he didn't want to be found. Back when Kes had kept her greenhouse here, the sight and scent of the plants had calmed him. They were gone now, but most of the cider bottles were still there.

He'd already finished one and was working on a second. He did not like being interrupted, especially by Seven. Knowing that she lived here now, which made _him_ the intruder, only made him twice as resentful.

"I missed two regeneration cycles downloading the crew's letters," she said in her typical monotone. "The Doctor ordered me off duty early to compensate."

"Right. Okay." He clung to a shelf for balance with one hand - was the ship going through some turbulence or was it just him? – and staggered to his feet, his free hand still clutching the bottle. "Back to your alcove then, like a good drone. I'll get out of your way now, shall I?"

"You are intoxicated." She frowned.

"Good guess." He toasted her mockingly and took another swig.

He did not make a habit of this. There had been no alcohol allowed in his childhood home. But part of his rebellion as a young man had been to learn to appreciate a glass of good wine with his fellow Starfleet officers, and after his father's death and the destruction of Dorvan, he'd found that Romulan ale or Antarean cider provided a welcome escape from nightmares. Still, he never let it go too far. He valued his sanity and self-control too much for that, and besides, dulled reflexes could get a Maquis fighter killed.

The one time in four years he let himself go, it figured the Borg woman would be the one to catch him.

"I am told that alcohol not only impairs cognitive functions, but causes significant physical discomfort. Why would you drink it?"

"Because it helps me process my emotions."

"What emotions require such a method?" she asked, typing away at the controls of her alcove, programming her regeneration cycle. Her cybernetic fingers glittered against the green light. She stared at the screen. She couldn't even be bothered to look him in the eye while talking.

"Isn't it obvious?" he snapped. "One of those damn letters just told me the Cardassians slaughtered the Maquis wholesale. Thousands are dead, including friends of mine. Excuse me if I don't spell out all the gory details for someone who doesn't even know what friendship means."

He had no time to get into one of those debates with Seven about the nature of humanity that the Captain enjoyed so much. He wanted to get to his quarters, lock the door, and drink until Sveta's letter stopped scrolling on repeat inside his head.

 _There was nothing we could have done … since the Cardassians allied with the Dominion, we were hopelessly outnumbered … I saw our ships go down like dry wood in a forest fire … I wish you were here, my friend, but at the same time, I'm glad you are far away and safe._

He didn't want to be far away and safe. He wanted to be there, burned to space debris along with the men and women who had saved his life a dozen times. Or else he wanted to be with Sveta, sharing her prison sentence, looking into her eyes to check if she was lying when she claimed to be all right, holding her if that stubborn woman ever let herself cry.

Instead he was sixty thousand light years away and powerless to help.

Being powerless – that was what hurt the most.

"The Hirogen nearly killed Commander Tuvok and me," said Seven. "They would have gutted us and kept our internal organs as trophies."

Her fingers did not stop typing or even slow down; on the contrary, she stabbed the touchscreen so sharply that the metallic fingertips of her left hand _click-clacked_ like the trigger of a phaser. Her voice had a grating edge that reminded him of the Captain giving the order to fire.

Chakotay knew what had happened. He had read Tuvok's report on their abduction, which, despite the Vulcan detachment of his writing style, had made it clear how dangerous the Hirogen were and what they would have done if _Voyager_ hadn't come to the rescue. But hearing Seven speak the blunt facts at a moment like this, when Chakotay's guard was already down, made his blood run cold.

"When you found us, they were sharpening their knives," she went on. "They planned to kill the Commander first while I watched. They knew … " For the first time, that sharp voice wavered. She leaned in closer to the screen, as if either her head was heavy or her eyes were blurred. "They knew that for me to watch my friend suffer would be worse than suffering myself."

"Seven, I … " Chakotay didn't know what to say. _I'm sorry_ sounded hopelessly inadequate. While he had been bound up in the suffering of people sixty thousand lightyears away, he had missed what she was going through under his very nose.

He corked up the cider bottle and stuffed it back into its hiding place with an emphatic _clink._ Maybe the Doctor's predictions were right and the stuff was already starting to rot his brain.

She stopped typing, swung around, and walked up to him until they were almost nose to nose. "Never tell me," she snapped, "That I do not understand the meaning of friendship."

He had never heard her speak like this before. Hadn't believed her capable of it, despite the Captain's faith. But as she spoke, it was like a puzzle piece falling into place: _of course._ Of course Seven of Nine had empathy. It was as strong and efficient as the rest of her. She knew exactly how he was feeling and had boiled it down to a single sentence: _For me to watch my friend suffer would be worse than suffering myself._

"Never," he promised her, putting both hands on her shoulders, speaking with a fervency that would embarrass him very much if he were sober. "You probably understand it better than I do. I was an asshole. I'm so sorry."

"Apology accepted." She flinched away from the smell of his breath and shrugged off his hands. "I … I am sorry too, Commander. My condolences for your loss."

Her delivery was stilted; she had probably borrowed the phrase from some etiquette guide of the Doctor's. But he knew now that there was sincerity behind those awkward manners, and knowing that made a difference.

"Thank you," he said. He wanted to touch her one more time, press into her hand or shoulder everything he couldn't convey with words, but he didn't want to startle her again.

He really should get going, before he said or did something he'd regret even more.

"Good night," he said. "Sleep well … I mean … you know what I mean."

Did she dream when she regenerated? The kind of nightmares produced by a Borg alcove didn't bear thinking about. He was going to have his own share of nightmares eventually, he knew, but at least he'd have a blanket to huddle under. One of these days, perhaps he'd bring her one.

"Good night, Commander." She stepped into the alcove and closed her eyes.

He made his slow, unsteady way back to his quarters, keeping one hand on the wall at all times. Once he got there, he found his last surprise in a day that had been packed with far too many surprises for his peace of mind already. This one, however, was not exactly unpleasant.

A cup of herbal tea, a plate of hot buttered toast, and an aspirin tablet sat in the shelf of the replicator. Chakotay lumbered over, sniffed the steam rising off them, and let out an incredulous little laugh. So that was what she'd been typing so intensely on the screen of her alcove earlier. She'd hacked his replicator.

 _Damn_ , he thought to his absent friends, dropping into an armchair to crunch his toast. _You should be here. You would've liked this girl._


End file.
